


The Masks of Venice

by maveincalurey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Harry has no money, M/M, Muggle Life, Venezia | Venice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-06 05:13:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maveincalurey/pseuds/maveincalurey
Summary: When Harry is hired as a couturier for the Malfoy family, his life changes





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1- 

Harry opened his eyes, awoken by the sound of a train passing under his window. He rose from his bed, sighing and mumbling. A day like the others. A hard day of work; to eat. It wasn’t his fault if he was born in misery after all. He walked to the window and opened the blinds. The street was crowded though it was early in the morning. It was a market day. He could see the richest of the poor running all over, racing to buy the best outfit for tonight, and the poorest of the poor look at their doing with their eyes wide opened. It was a Carnival night tonight, the first one in six month, the day after Mardi Gray. Harry sighed again and closed the window. He would like to go too, but he couldn’t. He wanted to dance with the others, but he couldn’t. He wanted to flirt with girls, but he couldn’t. He wanted to wear one of those masks to cover his entire face, but he couldn’t. He growled while putting his shoes on. He could never have fun anyway. He didn’t have any money to buy a mask. He didn’t have any money to buy a costume. He barely had enough money to eat. He’ll pass, like he did the twenty previous years. 

Harry opened the door and came out of the miserable building. Venice’s streets were cold. Cold and humid on this morning of March, and the boy had no scarf to wear. He thought to himself that he was going to freeze to death. The waters were high and his feet were soaked, his legs plunged in it up to his knees. Finally, he stopped in front of a tiny shop, where dresses were placed with taste in the vitrine to attract the clients. It was dumb. Everybody knew that the rich use the Grand Canal, they didn’t walk in the streets. With the poor, his inner voice whispered. Harry shivered before pushing the door of the small small boutique and entered it. Seen from the vitrine, it looked dark and old, but from inside… Curtains were falling on the walls, separating one room from another, their were pink, purple, red and another million colors. Large windows were on the canal side which let the light enter the store, illuminating the white marble floor. In the back, Harry could beheld dresses, a work of pure art made by his mentor, a certain Severus Snape. Where Harry was standing, he could see a couple of wealthy families roaming through the alleys of the store. The ladies all had big dresses which where taking most of the room, while the man had tight suits that made them walk like they had a brooms stuck right up their ass. Harry chuckled at the thought. He started to make his way to the stockroom to get to work, he was learning how to saw those awesome dresses these awesomely rich people had. Made him some money. Just enough to live. 

The curtain fell behind him, plunging him in the dark for a few seconds while his eyes got adapted to the very little light a minuscule candle was diffusing in the tiny room. Around him were piles of cardboard boxes and pieces of fabric flowing out from them. There was a small chair against the wall, hidden behind the boxes. The man let himself fall in it, sighing, grabbing one of the dresses. He hated his job. It was too much of a repetitive work to do, the same movement, the same fabric, the same clients. Little did he know this day will be different from the others. A few hours after he started to work, a hand with long skeleton like fingers grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up. A slow, low, sharp, raspy voice came up to his ears, making his hair on his neck rise : 

“Potter. My dearest Potter…”

The boy rose his eyes to his mentor. The man was tall and thiner that a gressin. He had long greasy and slick black hair brought into a ponytail. Two tiny solid black eyes were shining with a dishonest light. He had thin, almost invisible lips which repelled Harry. The tone of his skin was yellow like an old parchment and waxy. He was dressed as if he were richer than the Doge, and damn the Doge was rich. He had a black cape embroided with silver, over a shirt as white as an elephant’s ivory. Harry answered, with the most innocent voice he could : 

“Yes, sir?” 

“ I am afraid your non existing talent has…”, Harry sprung on his feet  
“What? You are firing me?” 

“Let me finish, Potter. I was saying that one of our customers as hired you. He wants you as his personal couturier, he said. He offers a lot, so I got to the wise decision to sell you to this man. Says you have thiner finger than mine and that your creations are best” he grumbled the end of the sentence. 

“Wait. You can’t sell me” 

“Yes I can” 

“No you can’t” 

“Yes. I. Can” He said, every syllable clear.

“No. You. Can’t” replied as sharply as he could to Snape.

“Yes I… Stop it! This will last for hours. You have no choice anyway. Two blokes are waiting for you infant of the shop, maritime side.” 

“What if I don’t want to go?”

“Well, I guess you’ll just die on your own.”

Harry gulped. He had indeed no choice. Why did that person buy him? He was just an assistant, he knew nothing, he had no talent and he wasn't an object another could claim. At least he could maybe live better with this family of wealthy folks than what he was earning now with his mentor? Snape payed him very few, the least that he could give to Harry. The boy grabbed his old coat full of holes and put down the dress he was working on: a large ruby one which reflected silver in the daylight. A piece of art a princess coming from some country had ordered to the Great Couturier. Harry turned his back to Snape, his mood gradually growing bad. He was sold, wasn’t Snape rich enough? Apparently not. He walked out of the stockroom, with large strides, towards the door opening on the Canal. When he got out, he found two blokes standing in a gondola, dressed in a red uniform. Both were very short, reaching Harry’s thighs, even thiner than Snape and more ugly than the man. One had large ears, and a tiny thin nose and two big protruding eyes filled with tears. The other was the total opposite. Everything was small on his face, except for his nose. Harry scowled at their sight, he did not want to live with these monsters. He tried reassuring himself thinking they were maybe nice appart from being hideous. He sat between the two creatures and the one with big eyes opened his mouth : 

“Hello young sir, my name is Dobby.” 

“Dobby? What kind of name is that?” 

“The kind of name my parents gave me, sir” replied the dwarf. “Master Malfoy is very impatient to meet you

Harry did not answer. He rather think about this new information the thing just gave him. He knew who Malfoy was. Everybody knew who the Malfoy's were. They were the richest family of Venice, merchants. Actually, they came from France, but they moved for some reason Harry did not know. They were well known to be severe, and even more parsimonious than Snape when it came to money. Harry, for himself, thought they were evil. To be more accurate, his friends made him believe the family members were fiends. With a bit of hope, they won’t be as mean as the gossip said. The journey was short and silent. None of the three man had opened his mouth since Dobby last spoke. The gondola stopped infant of an immense Palazzo. White, shiny, and stunning. Harry opened his mouth wide and could not help but say 

“Shit. That’s a nice home!” 

The dwarfs grimaced at his crude language while they were docking the boat. The three man went over the side of the boat, laying down the feet on white brick. Dobby then reached for the handle and opened the door, making sign to Harry to follow him. He followed Dobby inside. The opulence of the room blinded him. Silver and Green falling everywhere and anywhere, sunlight coming inside the hallway. Harry took a step backward. So that was being rich, He thought to himself. He vaguely heard the second ugly dwarf saying that he was going to warn the Master his commission has arrived and that Harry should stay right here. Harry did not answer, nor complain at the name he just had been called. He was stunned by the beauty of the hall, and it only was an entrance. Appart from the curtains, the lobby was rather empty of furniture. Anyways, he craved to visit the rest of the Palazzo. He glimpsed to the wide, shining, marble stairs and made a step towards it, rising his hand to touch the golden bannister when a slow, haughty voice came from the top: 

“And where do you think you are going?”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2- 

 

Harry’s eyes rose to the voice, up the stairs, to find a young man who must be around his age. The boy was stunning. He had a torrent of light blond, almost silver, hair flowing down around an angelic face. He had a thin nose, like Dobby’s, but better. He had two sharp grey eyeballs, staring at him with disdain, not even altering his marble-like perfection. He was dressed in a black robe that looked awesomely expensive, even for someone like him, his neck was recovered with the silk from his clothes. Only his face and his hands, covered with silver and emerald rings, went past the barrier of the smooth fabric. Harry’s jaw dropped wide opened. Never had he found a man beautiful. And this one wasn’t beautiful, he was magnificent. The blond boy stared at him for a moment, before he spoke again. 

“I think I asked you a question.” 

Harry could hear the slight hint of an accent now. He couldn't place it, but then he remembered that it was said in the streets that the family was French. He gulped and did not answer. Instead, he took a step back. He’d rather compare himself to his “new master” instead of answering to the boy. In the moment, his pants were soaked, his coat was holed, his shoes were old. He bit his lip. He had to answer, but so many questions were rushing in his mind. How did he arrive here? Why did the Malfoy's buy him? What on earth was he doing in this fancy hallway, pouring dirt everywhere on the nice slabs. He gulped a second time when he heard the sound of the “Master” getting down, at a slow pace. The pace of a nobleman, most will think. So did Harry. Again, he took a step backwards, bowing his head. He started, stuttering. 

“I… I… Wanted to visit?” 

“Visit? Who authorised you to visit?” The boy replied. 

Now he was a few inches from Harry now. Close enough to touch him if he desired, far enough to show he was repealed by Harry.. He was even better seen from this close. The line of his jaw was pure, his eyes were wide, his lips were full and his china bit pointy. Harry could not help but compare him to one of those Greek statues he saw once, a lot of years before now. Hermione, one of his best friends, had showed them to him. He tried to compare the boy to one of the Greek gods represented in the museum. He couldn’t. He couldn't think straight. He opened his mouth to reply. But the boy rose his hand to make him shut up. He closed his mouth slowly, watching the man judge him. He looked at him with an impassive look, showing no emotion through his firing eyes. Under this stare, Harry felt defiled, as if he was getting undressed only by his gaze. Thus, he lowered his head first, it was the first time someone achieved to make him sag without saying anything. What seemed like hours after, the silver haired boy spoke. 

“Very well. I’ll let Dobby show you to your rooms and atelier. Then you will start working. As an exchange of your hard labor, you will have my family’s protection, food, shelter and what human most crave for: money. Now go, and behave” 

Harry saw the dwarf next to him bow at the implicit order his master gave him, then he caught his sleeve, pulling him. When he looked up to the steps, the blond boy had vanished. He was alone with Dobby now, so he had no other choice than following him, which he did. The small person pulled him through the corridors up to a small small wooden door. He pushed it. His new bedroom was now in front of him, the place where he was going to live now. The room could contain three times his apartment. Though the size was gigantic compared to what Harry was used to, there wasn’t much furniture. Only a dresser to put his poor clothes, a bed - way larger than the one he had before- with brand new red sheets. Last but no least, there was a table with a cardboard box on it, alongside with a note. He approached the table and took the note, studied it for a few minutes and put it back down, sighing. He opened the box instead. Inside, he found load and loads of fabric. Blue silky fabric, the same material the Malfoy boy was wearing. He touched and felt it through his calloused hands, due to hours and hours of work. He took a look to the note again, then called for Dobby. The small man opened his door almost immediately on the dwarf : 

“You have called me, sir?” 

“Errr, yes… Do you know how to read?” 

“Yes Sir, I do know how to read” 

“Can you read this for me, please?” he gave the note to Dobby who caught it before reading it, in his head. “I meant out loud” 

“Oh, yes of course! It says: I want you to make my costume for tonight, if I am happy with it, you’ll have diner, if not, you will start again and again until I am satisfied with it” Dobby looked at Harry, “Well… I think you should start now if it is for tonight” 

The dwarf bowed to Harry before he left the room, leaving the boy by himself. Harry sighed for what like it seemed the hundredth time in the past hour. He sat on the one chair in one of the corners in the room, grabbed the fabric with an annoyed hand. He had no idea what he had to do. The Malfoy boy had left no instructions for him. He had to improvise. He jerked the silk out of the box, making it fall on the white, cold slabs. From it, a paper dropped along with a small bag. The noise it made touching the ground was sharp, metallic. Harry frowned and got up. He grabbed the bag and opened it wide. He found a few golden coins in it, engraved with the Doge’s face. He bit his lip, he never saw so much money at once before. He put the money away in the bag and watched the paper. It was the drawing of the outfit Monsieur Malfoy wanted. Well… He’ll wait : Harry was going to the Carnival tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3- 

Harry took a step out of his new room. The large hallway was empty. No servants, no guards - If the Mafloy's even had some. He took the staircase Dobby had used to take him to his bedroom. The Palazzo was perfectly empty. No one came and stopped Harry. It was too easy. He stood in front of the entrance door for a few minutes, concentrated on his surrounding. No noise. He opened the door and took a step out. He was out in the streets now. Again, he waited for a few minutes, verifying if he was going to be stopped and brought back to work. But no one came. Harry grinned before walking away from the beautiful house. He covered small streets and large piazza’s before he arrived on Plaza San Marco. The Plaza was crowded, people entering the gigantic Basilica, other hurrying into small shops, some coming into tiny restaurants. The place was alive. Living with the movement of the large throng. The smell of hot coffee and baked bread was floating in the air, the blue sky blinded the man, the fresh wind blowing in his hair, messing it up even more than before, caressing his skin through his threadbare clothes. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold air. 

He approached a tiny shop called Vitalito. It was a shop similar to the one Snape was holding, but this one was concurrent to Severus’s. The boutique was held by a nice old women. Harry had tried to apply as a couturier to this shop, but Mrs. Galbardi was not as wealthy as his ex mentor. He pushed the door and came inside. There were a few customers in the shop, minding their own business. Feeling the silk between their fingers, sniffing the nice rose odour floating in the surrounding. He, too, started walking through the allies, looking at the fabric. After what it seemed like years, he took one of the hangers of the row. On it was a bright red cape, with a golden waistcoat, a white shirt with baggy sleeves along with black trousers. He caressed the fabric, it was soft thin silk. He approached the cash register where an old, happy, sympathetic women was standing. When she saw Harry, she smiled at him 

“Buon Giorno, Harry! What brings you up to my modest shop?” 

“Well, I’d like to buy this, if it is possible, please” 

“Yes of course. May I ask you why though? Your creations are much better than mine” 

Harry did not answer, just putting down the clothes and pulled out the money out of his pocket. The women didn't argue. She took the money and gave a bag to Harry with the outfit in it. She smiled one last time to him and murmured a “Thank you, have a nice day”. Few hours after, he was back in his bedroom at the Palazzo. He had the mask -the one everybody had- and the suit. He felt a vivifiant sentiment growing in his chest. Maybe this is the start of a new life? he thought to himself while he started working on the command the Malfoy boy made to him. He smiled, his mood growing good as he was sawing fabric together. 

 

Outside, the night was falling and it has been hours since Harry had been working over the suit, when the door opening interrupted his work. He felt a freezing, hard gaze staring at him and he finally stopped pulling the fabric together. It was the silver-haired boy, nonchalantly leaning against one of the four walls. Harry grumbled before he stood on his feet. Malfoy didn't move an inch. He even dared to yawn at Harry’s approach. So Harry stopped and said from afar: 

“What are you doing here? I thought the rich didn't bother addressing to the poor” 

“I’m not here to chat with you, I’m here to take my outfit for tonight”, his accent rolled all over Harry’s skin, soft but sharp . 

“Why didn’t you send Dobby instead?” 

“Because Dobby has no taste in his way to dress. Now give it to me, I’ll check if I am satisfied with it or no” 

Harry handed the cloth to Malfoy’s stretched hand who pulled on it, unfolding the suit. It was a magnificent piece of silk and linen with different shades of blues. Harry had embroided silver thread in it to make scale-like motifs run over the baggy sleeves that were made in much clearer colour than the rest of the the top. It was a brilliant mix between the materials: Soft pale blue linen used for the collar and the sleeves, the waist coat had been made with the navy blue silk he found in the box. A large piece of blue leather was still lying on the marble slabs. Harry didn't have any time to finish, he had been too busy buying his own costume for the carnival. He swallowed and asked: 

“Are you happy with it? I didn't have any time to finish the pants but I…” 

“I like it very much. I am just disappointed that you did not finish the entire thing. Still, I am happy of what you achieved in a day. I wan’t the pants for tomorrow, last deadline, or else i’ll throw you in the Grand Canal.” 

“Is it like this that you got rid of your last couturier?”, Harry risked to ask. The answer was freezing, Malfoy’s metallic eyes plunging into Harry’s forest green ones. 

“You’ll see if I don’t have my pants tomorrow.” He straightened up, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then” 

Malfoy turned his back to Harry before he left the room, leaving the boy on his own. He shivered. He was pretty sure Malfoy was capable of throwing him from the balcony, straight into the cold, dirty waters of Venice. He sat on his chair, taking the leather piece, insulting the blond boy through his gritted teeth for the next few minutes. Of course, that won’t arrange anything of his situation. When the sun was finally completely set and that he couldn't see anything anymore, he got up to his feet, turned on the oil lamp to light up the bedroom. Once his eyes got used to the obscurity, he approached the gigantic wardrobe and opened it. His new shining suit was hanging there, stunning. He got quickly rid of the rags he was dressed in, and slipped the clothes on. They were soft. Softer than kittens hair. It was warm enough for this cold February weather. He took a look at his new self in the mirror that was placed in the corner of the bedroom. He looked like one of those wealthy venetian princes. He smiled to his reflection, then, he grabbed the mask. The traditional masks everyone had to wear, where only his eyes were visible. He placed it on his forehead and took another look in the mirror. He couldn't recognise himself. Appart from is green eyes and his messy dark hair, nothing could let someone know that the man under the costume was Harry. As earlier in the day, he got out of the room, without anyone stopping him. For the first time in twenty years of lifetime, he was going to the carnival.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4- 

It was dark outside. The street in front of the Palace was empty, not a wondering soul. Not even a courageous cat running after some rats. Though the streets were clear from any living presence, Harry could clearly hear the sound of music from afar. Of course, the Carnival took place everywhere in the city, not only on the Plaza San Marco. The boy started to walk towards the noise. Closer he came to it, stronger the sound of violins, trumpets and flutes was loud. More he approached, better he could smell the nice odour of baked bread, cooking meat and a lot more foods he had never smelled. A second later, he was on a small piazza, flooded with a dense crowd. 

From darkness and emptiness rose a joyful, colourful throng. Dark silk flying in the wind, withe masks hiding faces, laughs ascending from the dancers. A farandole was being played by the musician. Harry was carried by the sound, and the mass. Never had he heard such music before. Well, he did, but only from far away. His aim was to go up to Plaza San Marco, he wanted to see the real party. It was closer to the truth saying that he wanted to see the rich men and women costumes. Never had he attended lavish parties before, the Carnival was a really good occasion to do it. 

He left the piazza behind him, continuing his route toward San Marco, towards the heart of the festivities. He meat other places where people were eating, drinking, dancing, laughing. He saw people puking in alleys, some women of easy virtue losing their virginity. He even glimpsed at a man getting his throat slashed in one of those long, thin, dark alleys. After what seemed like hours, he finally beheld the sight of the tremendous Basilica San Marco. Harry knew it was called like that because the Evangelist’s body, San Marco, was lying inside. Merchant had stole his corpse in Constantinople years and years from today by hiding it in a basket full of pig meat. Muslims didn't even dare to open it. At last, he arrived on San Marco. 

Like the small piazzas he already crossed, San Marco was overcrowded. But being a thousand times bigger than the streets, a deluge of people were invading the square. Here, there was a tide of colours, unlike the small places where black was the most worn colour. There, Harry could see different shades of green, red, blue, silver, pink and so much more. He gawked in awe at the sea of hues for a moment, when someone knocked into him. It was a lady with very red hair and a nice pink and white dress, she wore the same mask as he did. She was of petite stature and had bright brown eyes, her only discernable feature on under her mask. She bowed before him before giving him a glass of champagne: 

“I am sorry, sir. I did not mean to push you” 

Harry shrugged and did not answer, he did not want to start a courtship business. At least not with a person he never saw the face of. He stared for a long moment at the glass of champagne in his hand. That was also something new to Harry. Snape had held receptions in his boutique, for sure, but he never had been allowed to taste any of the alcohol. His mentor said he didn't have the palate thin enough. It was true that for Harry, wine always had the same taste, for the little he had tested, as well as champagne was just a bubbly golden liquid that wasn't as good as people said. What he liked was what he could afford: beer, in those good old bars that were the cheapest of Venice. Although the alcohol was the worst, Harry got used to it and liked the atmosphere in those bars. He could just forget his rank in society for a few seconds, drunken himself until he forgot where he was, fuck a whore when he had enough money left. He wasn't an alcoholic, but it felt good to hangover sometimes. He emptied his champagne glass in a single gulp. He grimaced. He definitely did not like this drink. 

Harry did not know how to dance. He once was enamoured in one of Snape’s clients, a nice cute girl with soft brown eyes and bright red hair, short sized. Her name was Ginerva Weasley. She tried to teach him how to waltz, but it was wasted effort. Harry kept on stepping on her poor feet. They finally abandoned and broke appart after a few months of good sex and almost no sentiment. That was why Harry was on the side, shoving nice warm bread with saucisson in his mouth, staring at the dancers, beating the rhythm with the tip of his boot. The music, that was a continual waltz played by the orchestra, changed to a more moving song. The couples dancing two by two broke appart, and a collective dance started. A few seconds after, Harry was pulled in this infernal dance. He felt hands on his hips while his were on some strangers shoulders. He had no other choice than following the move, making an extra effort not to step on his feet. he assumed it was a man as the person was not wearing a dress, and that he was tall, and his hair was short. Short blond well-brushed hair. So pale it was almost silver, shining under the cities lights.

Harry gulped, praying the man not to be the boy he was working for, or else he was in deep trouble. He concentrated on the mans legs in front of him, so much he did not even notice how tight his was grip was on him. He only remarked it when he felt hands on his wrists. He was being pulled out of the dance. When he regained his consciousness, he was a few meters away from the crowd, the tall boy staring at him with an angry, steel coloured, eye. Harry started to sweat under his robes, it was Malfoy. He could recognise the silk he worked on for hours. The boy frowned: 

“I am waiting for excuses, sir.” 

“I am sorry. I did not want to hurt you”, Harry’s first reflex was to disguise his voice. The tone he used was deeper and he took a southern accent. 

“You are not from Venice, aren't you?” 

“No. Actually, I am from Florence.” 

“And a man of wealth, I can tell.”

“Oh yes, I am a Florentine prince.” Replied Harry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the time I took to write this chapter. I am a busy person and I have no idea when I will update after this, but I will do my best

Chapter 5- 

Harry had lied the first time to explain his accent, but the second lie just slipped out of his mouth. Instead of showing the unease he truly felt, he smiled to the silver haired boy. 

“You have a faint accent too, I can tell it is not Italian though” He made an effort to cast aside his coarse language to try and speak like a noblemen. 

“I know I do. What is you name?” 

Harry paled a bit. He was not prepared for this question. He had to think fast, but the boy’s steel like stare was disconcerting him. He looked at his feet, thinking hard. He heard the faint voice of the Malfoy kid asking “Answer me, I asked you a question”. Harry did not answer. The second after, he felt a cold, wet, liquid sensation on his face. He jumped, he had not expected that. The boy just threw champagne at his face. He had to answer, he was close to getting unmasked so he said: 

“My name is Guccio, Guccio de Malinelli.” The truth was, it was the mame of the bartender. But why will the boy look for it? Harry gave a name and Malfoy had to be satisfied with it. “How about you, sir?

“You probably have heard of my family down in Florence. I am Draco Malfoy.” 

“I am sorry, who?” Harry asked. 

Again, he had no idea what he was doing. Playing with fire like that was dangerous enough. He felt like playing with a snake. Of course he knew the Malfoy’s were rich bankers renowned in the entire country. Maybe he wished to die? Maybe he just wanted to see Draco’s face when he’d learn he was not famous in all Italy? He lowered his gaze to Malfoy. The boy was staring at him with unreadable eyes, thus Harry started to panic. The banker’s son opened his mouth, and spoke: 

“We are bankers, it is funny you have never heard of us. Father’s business goes further than Sicilia”

“Oh, I do not take care about the economic problems in my house, yet. I have never set a foot in a bank” 

Draco Malfoy frowned. For sure it was not normal to hear that the son of a rich man was not caring about the family business. Even more if the son was heir of the family. Harry bit his lip, uneasy, then attempted to smile to the blond boy, forgetting the mask on his face for a second. His frown narrowed even more on his forehead, his silver like eyebrows merging together to make one. The smile on Harry’s face faded slowly to be replaced by an anxious grin. Finally, after supporting a long, calculating, severe gaze, Malfoy seemed to relax, rolling his eyes to the sky. 

“You Florentines are barbarians if your fathers do not teach you how to care about your household.” 

Harry did not answer. Actually, he almost choked on the relief he felt. The boy was simple minded and easily manipulated, Harry had concluded on the instant. The only issue now was that he had to continue to lie to his “Master”. Harry usually did not lie, he had no reason to, and now he had a double life. During daytime he would be the poor couturier, condemn to slavery by the richest family in the city, while in night time… He would be Guccio de Malinelli, a stranger who had a presence, and -oh god- so much money. Harry bowed his head to Draco, before trying to imitate de language of the nobleman. 

“I will now leave this place, will I meet you again?” 

Draco huffed and wooshed his hand through the air as if he was chasing an annoying fly. The question must have been stupid. Harry had forgotten that here, in the center of Venice, on Carnival days, people were regrouping every night. They were regrouping to eat, dance, fuck some tipsy Venetians, people usually met once. 

That was it, Harry was tired of making a fool of himself in front of the Malfoy kid. He grumbled a “goodbye”, that he will come back the next night and that they will probably never meet again, before he left de square. Leaving behind him the crowded square. He felt the silver-haired boy’s burning gaze on his neck until he turned at the corner of a street. He had to find his way back to the Palazzo, and quick. Finally, he got to the large wooden door, his breath short and his throat burning because of the running. He pushed it slowly, looking if someone was in the hallways or not. Unlike this morning, when he broke out of the place, the entrance was lit, and full of servants laughing and chatting. The masters where out, the place was theirs. Harry got in. Closed the door as slowly as he could, trying not to get noticed by the others. He took a step on the tip of his toes, then another, when a high pitched, nosy voice stopped him: 

“Hey you? Who are you?” 

Harry turned on his heels to find the small Dobby staring at him. 

“Are you another conquest of Sir Malfoy? Then the door is the other way.” 

“No Dobby, it is me, Harry.” 

He saw the tiny creature cover his mouth with his wide hands. Harry articulated through gritted teeth, Do not panic.”. Dobby node before fleeing through the hall, his mouth still covered. All the domestics eyes were on him. He smiled uneasily. Of course they could not see him smile through the thick masks that was still stuck on his face, so he turned and got down to his bedroom, where no one will disturb him.


End file.
